Pyhhrus
by Procrastinations
Summary: Because what sort of victory was this, when so much tragedy had been left in his wake? A collection of drabbles about those who were left behind. R&R?


**_Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm merely playing in J. K. Rowling's sandbox. _**

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_-:-_

_2__nd__ May, 1998_

It's hard to believe that no-one here is paying them any mind, but at the same time it makes perfect sense. Lucius looks uneasy, and Narcissa knows what is running through his mind, because it's exactly what should be running through hers. She risked everyone's lives when she turned to face the Dark Lord and lied to his face, and now they're safe because for now, in the quiet lull of the new dawn, it's over.

The Hall is filled with families, both whole and torn apart, bound by blood and bound by friendship. Draco is curled into her side; his tears have long stopped trickling from his eyes onto her robes. Lucius keeps one hand steady on his son's arm, and Narcissa knows that it's because he's terrified this is all a dream and that Draco is dead, murdered by those he sheltered in his stately manor. Narcissa pretends that just for now, they'll be okay.

An infant's cry pierces the air like a siren, and a few turn half-heartedly to see where the noise is coming from. _Really, what sort of person would bring their baby to a battle_, the rational part of Narcissa's mind thinks as she scans the crowd, her eyes alighting on a face as familiar as her own. Andromeda stares at the baby, unwilling or unable to stop his tears, and even from this distance Narcissa can see her sister quietly singing to the boy and the dead. Moving as if she's in a dream, she places Draco's head on his father's shoulder and stands, treading the distance as finely as if the floor will collapse under the weight of her guilt. She stands next to her sister and gazes down on the niece she wishes she wasn't too proud to have gotten to known. In life, Nymphadora Tonks had been vivacious and outspoken and fierce. In death, she is beautiful.

"Andromeda." The word is so softly spoken that her sister barely hears it, but glances round all the same. "Andie, I…"

And she can't go on; her throat closes up and her eyes grow hot and for the first time in twenty-one years, Narcissa Malfoy cries.

-:-

_14__th__ May, 1998_

"Ron."

The word is spoken so tentatively that it breaks his heart, because Hermione was never tentative. Every memory he has of her is proud or happy or furious, but never this strange girl he feels he barely knows. "Yeah?"

She takes his hand in hers, forces him to look at her. "Please, stop blaming yourself." And Merlin, it's all come back, because thinking back, he could have saved Fred. He could have cast a _Protego_ or told him to move or leapt in front of the bloody wall himself, and he's partly to blame for the fact that no-one smiles anymore.

"I could have done something, 'Mione. I could have…" he falters, swallowing hard and turning away from her. He's let her sob unashamedly into his robes before, and he can't break down in front of her, not now. She's been strong for seven years; it's his turn to be brave, be a Gryffindor.

"What could you have done?" She asks softly. "There's nothing any of us can do now but miss him. Any of us had the chance to save him, and you obsessing over it isn't going to bring him back."

"I know." She rests her head on his shoulder, nestling into his body warmth, and he can't help but smile slightly. It still strikes him sometimes, when he's sitting beside her with their hands entwined or she's curled into his side or when she's kissing him like they're back in the Chamber, that after three years of hopeless pining and ridiculous fuck-ups, she's still here and she's his. And in the aftermath, that means more to him than ever before.

-:-

_18__th__ June, 1998_

It seems like lifetimes have passed since Seamus last saw Lavender. When he thinks of her, he tries not to picture her lying, half-dead and almost torn to pieces; instead he thinks of the slow smile that spreads across her face when he's made a clever remark, or the way she bites her lip when she's concentrating, or the eyebrow she raises whenever someone makes a ridiculous comment. He can't afford to fall in love with her because _what would the family think_ and _it's disrespectful to Tommy's memory_ and _she's tainted now_. She doesn't appear for over a month while the clean-up and rebuilding of Hogwarts takes place.

She appears again all of a sudden, her flyaway hair pinned up in a messy bun, wearing denim shorts and a pale pink tank top, displaying her ravaged flesh like it's summer of 1997 and all she cares about are Seamus's eyes on her body. People stare; they can't help it, and most are polite enough to turn away. Seamus makes a conscious effort to avoid her, directing his attention away from the girl he could have loved. When he does talk to her his voice is emotionless, hostile, and she flinches away from his tone. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Luna shake her head slightly, like she's disappointed in him, and he storms away to begin work elsewhere. He can feel her eyes linger on his back, and he hates it, hates the way he can't bring himself to be a Gryffindor. Covertly he watches her work, because despite the ugly scars and the no-longer-as-pretty face, she's still beautiful to him.

Hermione chatters to her as they clear away debris from the Battle, help to rebuild the Astronomy Tower, and Seamus overhears them discussing the former's blooming relationship with Ron. Across the courtyard, Harry talks with McGonagall and Kingsley, the trio laughing slightly at some forgotten memory. Luna skips over to Seamus and sits on the ground beside him, flicking her wand every so often to help with a heavier or larger piece of stonework, before breaking the silence.

"Are you going to stop being so unfriendly to Lavender now?"

The question catches him off-guard and he pauses, turning to look at her. She meets his gaze, her eyes filled with simple curiosity.

"Wh-_what_?"

"You're being awfully cold to her," Luna elaborates. "I feel rather sorry for her. She didn't ask for Greyback to attack her."

"But she-"

"She's not dangerous," Luna says serenely, stealing the words from his mouth. "Professor Lupin was lovely and he was a werewolf."

Seamus scowls at her, because what can be said? That his cousin was killed by a werewolf when he was seven? That he's scared Lavender will reject him? That he's scared he won't be able to love her like he did, and that he's terrified of breaking her heart? "That's not the point, Luna."

"So what is?" Her gaze pierces his, as if she can see all of his private fears. She stands and brushes the dirt off her trousers, before smiling sweetly at him. "I'd suggest you go and talk to her. She needs a friend right now."

"So what about you?"

"Oh, we were never close enough. Besides, she thinks I'm far too strange." She ambles off, humming a funny tune to herself, and Seamus shakes himself mentally. _Some Gryffindor_, a voice in his head chides sternly, and he wishes he could just be brave.

-:-

_13__th__ August, 1998_

She lied to Draco about coming here, but she needs someone to talk to, someone to issue the meaningless lies mother figures spew, so that just for a while she can pretend that she'll be okay. Summoning up her courage (_she never was much of a Gryffindor_) she taps on the brightly painted front door and prays that Andromeda's Black side won't rear its ugly head.

When she does come to the door she carries the baby on her hip and a piece of parchment in the other hand. There's the momentary look of surprise before Andromeda fully opens the door and invites Narcissa in.

"I was just about to write to you," Andie says, closing the door gently behind her sister. "I heard about Lucius's trial. It was today, wasn't it?"

Narcissa nods, incapable of speech, and Andie foists the baby onto her. "Don't drop him, he's not dangerous, and his name's Teddy." Narcissa marvels silently at the easy ability with which her older sister seemed to read the other's mind, but then again it was only two and a half decades since Andie's fall from grace. The sisters had always been good at reading each other.

They talk long into the afternoon, of all who have left and all who have been left behind. The baby – _Teddy, not the baby, Teddy_ – sleeps on Narcissa, one chubby fist wrapped in her hair, and she wants to weep with the injustice. This boy did not deserve to have been orphaned.

"I'm sorry, Andromeda." The words spill from her lips like water. "For everything. For not getting to know your family. For being so self-involved."

Andromeda's lips quirk upwards and she shakes her head. "There's no point holding grudges. There's been enough of those to last a lifetime." Narcissa stands and hands Teddy back, massaging her sore muscles that have stiffened by lack of movement. "Will I see you again?"

Narcissa smiles, a genuine, pretty thing that hasn't graced her face in so long. "Of course. You're my sister."

And she can't help but feel that maybe, life without her husband will be bearable.

-:-

_24__th__ November, 1998_

Everywhere she looks is the son she left behind. Of course, rational thought dictates that _he_ left _her_, but Molly feels – _knows_ – that she abandoned her darling boy the second she laid him to rest in the graveyard in Ottery St. Catchpole. It has taken her six months to enter Fred's old room, and the smell of him is overpowering. She sits on the floor clutching the blanket Lily Potter had knitted for him and cries, inhaling the scent like it's her life force.

She won't mourn him in front of others, because she needs to be strong. In the beginning, Arthur cried himself to sleep at night. Bill didn't sleep at all, by the looks of the bags under his eyes and the worried glances Fleur kept shooting him whenever he yawned. Charlie left immediately after the funeral, but for the first time in years she gets letters home. Ron had Hermione, and Ginny had Harry; they stayed at the Burrow until September, when Hermione left to finish her final year with Ginny and Harry and Ron went off to train to be Aurors. But the grief is slowly beginning to ease its chokehold; the letters are cheerier and their faces are starting to resemble happiness. Only George remains, shipwrecked in the calm after the storm, and the fact that Molly can do nothing at all breaks her heart.

She feels that as far as mothers go, she has failed. If there is an afterlife (and how can she not believe in one? She has lost so much already) Fred is living with his heroes, most likely staying with his namesake, and she'll be damned if she knows whether the knowledge that he's raising hell with her brothers makes her laugh or cry.

-:-

_2__nd__ May, 1999_

With the year anniversary comes a newborn child, squalling into the silence. Fleur holds her daughter close to her breast, whispering her name over and over, like an answered prayer.

"_Victoire. Victoire._"

It strikes Fleur that the Order of the Phoenix should still be around, because all these survivors are eerily reminiscent of the animal; phoenixes rise from the ashes, and isn't that what they've all had to do?

In the quiet predawn light, the baby cries, and maybe now everything will be okay.

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**A/N: Reviews are love.**


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